Further.He doesn’t need a long lecture for the weight of that word to hit home. The fact that I will be appearing on a reality show is the most humiliating thing I could have done to our name. To miss my mum’s birthday, knowing my sister has already coordinated a celebration for at least two hundred of our closest aunties and uncles, would only bring more shame onto the pile.
“Okay, Daddy. I’ll try.”
“You better do more than try. Your sister has picked the most beautiful aso ebi for her.”
“Okay, daddy. More than try.”
“And make sure to like my Facebook post!” He yells. Then the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a moment, then at Coach.
He gives me a look. “So... that went well.”
“Splendid,” I say sarcastically.
My parents are expecting me to go home for my mother’s birthday.
With my wife.
Chapter Ten
Scrubs, Success + the Stand-In Sisterhood
Aspen
I’m going to miss this place, despite the sterile chill and the countless headaches it’s given me. All around me, the nurses and residents I’ve spent years with in the trenches move in a cloud of scrubs and stethoscopes, their well-wishes a bittersweet melody against the rhythmic, mechanical beeping of the monitors. In the distance, the rattle of rolling gurneys—the frenetic symphony that has defined my life for so long—is finally humming its final tune.
“So,” Tatum says, leaning against the laminate table with a heavy exhale. “You’re actually doing this. Walking away from the steady paycheck of Centennial Memorial and all the hospital benefits.”
When she puts it like that, it sounds like I’m volunteering as tribute.
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice much more calm than I feel. “Any parting advice before I do something completely insane?”
“Who says it’s insane?”
“My mother. Definitely my dad. And absolutely my cousin Clarissa, who is sending family group chat messages bragging about her first-born getting into an elite private school while she judges my pipe dream.”
Tatum sucks her teeth, that familiar protective fire lighting up her eyes. “Nobody has to understand your path but you, Aspen. Success will prove them wrong.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Success. Right. That toxic word that makes Black women run ourselves into the ground trying to prove we belong in rooms we built.”
“Well, you’re not just any Black woman. You’re a visionary. You took your entire life savings—”
“And money that should be paying off student loans,” I add under my breath.
“—and you’re building something for you.”
“For the people,” I correct gently.
My mind flashes to the countless times I’ve argued with the hospital board, fighting for preventative care they deemed not cost-effective for the under-insured. That’s why I’m doing this. My mobile clinic isn’t just a business, it’s a lifeline for the people the system was designed to overlook.
“I’m proud of you,” Tatum says, her gaze softening. “We’re all proud of you.”
By “we,” she means The Stand-Ins—our tribe, born from a chance encounter at HollyDates and cemented by far too many espresso martinis.
I remember growing up and wanting to be part of every club and every “cool kid” activity. My mother would always remind me how temporary those things were. She’d say people grow up and grow apart, and that I had to make peace with the fact that by the time I was older, I’d likely only have a few good friends. She was right. Tatum was the one friend who stood the testof time. But The Stand-Ins? They became the cool kid club I’d spent my whole life chasing.
“Thank you. It means the world to have you all,” I say, my voice thickening. “Especially since my own family can’t be bothered to support this.”
